


The Mudblood Chronicles

by IckleRonnikens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IckleRonnikens/pseuds/IckleRonnikens
Summary: After dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry finds himself in the future... where Hermione Granger has become the new Dark Lord, because the only person she ever loved, Harry Potter, had died. Harmony. PLEASE NOTE: I am stuck and don't know if this story will continue past 8 chapters, just a heads up...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 105





	1. The Time Traveller

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an extension to the Harmony Discord Tuesday Drabble posted 09/09/20. I have also, unfortunately, got stuck after reaching a 20k word count, but I've decided to just post what I have anyway.

Chapter One

The Time Traveller

Harry Potter was sprawled across the rock-hard earth of the forest floor, his face pressed against the dirt, the smell of death filled his nostrils as he tried to breath. Everything was cold, from the ground he lay on, to the tattered robes that clung to his body and the coolness of the hinge of his glasses, digging into his nose. His body ached all over, his chest felt heavy, his legs had pins and needles, his arms were numb and right in the square of his torso, where the Killing Curse had hit, was burning him.

At first, he did not move. He didn’t even know if he _could_ move. He half anticipated the sound of celebration echoing around him, or at least some form of recognition that he had been killed, once and for all. But his ears met silence. In fact, because such a long time passed without sound through the evening air, he began to wonder if he could hear anything at all.

He tried his luck and barely opened one eye to assess the scene. His line of sight was limited, he could only see one side of the clearing from where he lay, but to his great surprise, what he could see, was emptiness. Where there were once lines of Death Eaters, and a half-giant tied to a tree, there was now nothing.

 _It’s a trick,_ Harry thought to himself, the one eye he had open was scanning around for a sign, any sign, that there were still rings of enemies surrounding him. _Don’t get up._

He closed his eye, dared to tilt his head in the dirt ever so slightly, and opened his other eye, searching the opposite side of the clearing. Again, no one. There was no Lord Voldemort, no Bellatrix Lestrange and no hoard of Death Eaters advancing on his position, hoping for the news of his death. But then he had the horrible thought of, what if they were simply hiding beyond the tree line, waiting to jump out at him when he moved, and yell surprise.

He had the horrible picture in his head of Voldemort jumping out from behind a tree and saying ‘boo’ before coming to realise how silly that was. And after much deliberation, Harry decided to move, at least as much as he could. If his movement was going to trigger some sort of reaction, then he would rather it happen sooner rather than later.

He groaned and moaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His limbs creaked like they hadn’t moved in years; his arms shook dangerously under his own weight and his head was spinning like crazy. And yet, when he opened his eyes and looked around, the forest remained still, quiet and unmoved. However long-ago Voldemort and his gang had been there, they weren’t there now, and they had gone believing Harry was dead, not even bothering to take his body with them.

Another scenario played out inside Harry’s head as he scrambled to his feet. Perhaps he was _actually_ dead? It seemed illogical that someone as theatrical as Voldemort wouldn’t parade Harry’s dead body around with him, proving once and for all that only he, and he alone, is untouchable. And so, if Harry was no longer alive, is the Forbidden Forest considered heaven to be in or hell? Could he find his way out to Hogwarts and stay there forever? Because that would be his ideal version of heaven, walking those hallways for eternity with his best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

His stomach turned over at the thought of them, as if he’s missed a step going down the flight of stairs. He didn’t care if he was dead and this was heaven or hell, he just hoped that they had managed to survive, and finish what he’d started. He tried not to cry, but he couldn’t help himself; his emotions were running high, he was in pain with every step he took and the thought of his friends dying as well was too much.

He reached for his cheek and wiped a tear away. He looked down at his finger, the water was real, he could feel it. If he was dead, he wouldn’t be able to cry, to hurt or to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He wouldn’t have had difficulties breathing or struggled to walk under heavy legs or experience the sensation of tingles running up and down his arms.

He was still living.

As Harry struggled his way through the forest, stumbling from one tree to the next, he wondered what use he would be if he discovered the Battle of Hogwarts was still raging on. He wasn’t exactly in fighting shape. However, before now he had not even noticed that, to his great surprise, the Invisibility Cloak and his wand still, somehow, remained in his possession beneath his tattered robes.

What exactly had happened to him back in that clearing?

Harry finally began to see the gaps between the trees widening, he was reaching the edge of the forest, and yet his ears were telling him the opposite story to what he had imagined. He had assumed, perhaps selfishly, that his death would have triggered the resumption of the fighting between the two parties. Instead, the air remained as silent as it had when he had been deep in the forest, and when he finally broke the tree line, his eyes couldn’t believe it.

The grounds of Hogwarts were empty. There were no bodies. There was no blood. If there had been a war here, it had been over long ago, almost forgotten. The place was flourishing with pure green grass, blooming flowers, twittering birds and early morning owls. The castle itself was completely intact, which in itself was baffling, because the last time Harry had seen it, and entire wing had been in ruins after being trampled on by giants.

What was going on? Perhaps he was dead.

Harry was caught in his trance, he was staring unblinkingly up at the castle, but somewhere he heard barking echoing in his head, and the ground began to shake. It brought him out of his deep reverie, he looked around aimlessly, two familiar shapes came bounding towards him, one brandishing its teeth and the other a crossbow.

‘Oi!’ came a deep booming voice, as the figures approached at a threatening pace. ‘What’re think yeh doin’? Out o’ bed, this time o’ the mornin’ and comin’ out o’ the forest no less!’

‘Hagrid?’

Harry’s voice faltered. It was dry, hoarse, and almost unrecognisable. The half-giant didn’t even register who he was.

‘An’ look at the state o’ yeh!’ Hagrid went on, thrusting the crossbow towards him. ‘Jus’ what ‘ave yeh been doin’, huh? What’s yeh excuse? It’d better be good, or the Headmistress will be given’ yeh detention! Best hope yeh not Pureblood. Who are yeh, anyway?’

‘Hagrid it’s me,’ Harry said a little bit more clearly, taking a small step forward as the dog began barking again, ‘Harry Potter—’

‘Rubbish,’ Hagrid said dismissively, ‘don’ be soilin’ a good man’s name. Tell me who yeh are before I hand yeh over—’

‘Hagrid, it’s _me_ ,’ Harry said desperately, his looked down at the dog, ‘at least Fang remembers me.’

Harry took a half-step towards the dog, went to reach forward and scratch it behind the ear, when it lunged out towards him and started barking again. It only didn’t attack because Hagrid was able to pull the large beast backwards and away. But Harry’s words seemed to sit with the half-giant, who was eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

‘How do you know about Fang?’ he asked curiously, Harry wished he would lower that crossbow.

‘What do mean how do I know?’ Harry asked with a laugh, pointing to the dog. ‘He’s right there.’

‘Tha’s not Fang,’ Hagrid said boisterously, ‘tha’s Harold that is. An’ jus’ like me, he has no idea who yeh are. So, spill!’

‘Harold?’ Harry said, looking down at the dog in confusion. ‘What happened to Fang—? Wait, Harold… you named your new dog after me? Hagrid, what’s going on?’

Hagrid was gripping the crossbow rather firmly now. He was looking Harry up and down a lot. Obviously, he was having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that he was suddenly standing with someone who both looked and sounded a lot like the late Harry Potter.

‘Alrigh’,’ Hagrid said, swallowing hard, ‘if yeh are who you say yeh are, then, yeh’d be able ter tell me something only the _real_ Harry would know.’

Harry blinked. What was going on? How long had he been left to lie dead in the forest? Had people forgotten about him? Moved on? What had this world become? Perhaps he was dead. Or at least, still dreaming, and he was really back in that clearing, barely clinging to life. The only way he was going to find out answers, was if he could convince the people he loved that he was still alive, and that whatever war they were still fighting, they now had him.

‘Do you still have a Hippogriff called Witherwings?’ Harry asked curiously, looking intently at Hagrid for his reaction. ‘Or should I say _Buckbeak?_ ’

There was the faintest of reactions from Hagrid, whose eyes widened slightly, and mouth opened ajar, but he shook his head and waved away the thought.

‘A lot o’ people know that now,’ he said dismissively, ‘that all came out after the war—’

‘After the war?’ Harry asked quietly. ‘So, the war is over then? Is Voldemort dead? What about Ron and Hermione—?’

Hagrid shuddered, gasped, and then looked around quickly. It was like he was expecting something horrible to converge on their position, but when nothing happened, he snapped his head back around at Harry and raised his crossbow again.

‘Yeh can’ be goin’ around sayin’ that name!’ Hagrid said, his voice booming loudly. ‘Yeh lucky yeh at Hogwarts, or a snatcher’d be all over yeh! Idiot! Everyone knows that. Yeh’d have to be livin’ in a cave to not know that—’

‘Or dead,’ Harry said, gesturing to himself, ‘come on Hagrid, you know it’s me, you have to know it’s me, how else would I know about Buckbeak, or Fang, or Fluffy, or Norbert, or Aragog, or those damned Blast-Ended Skrewts—?’

Hagrid wailed. He dropped his crossbow, stooped down and pulled Harry in a rib cracking hug, whilst he began to sob into Harry’s shoulder. If it wasn’t all so emotional, Harry would have called him a little pathetic, but given the situation, he patiently patted him on the back.

‘Harry!’ he said miserably, as Harry struggled to hold his weight. ‘Yer back! Yer finally back!’

‘Hagrid,’ Harry said, attempting to push the half-giant off of him, ‘could you please tell me what’s going on?’

Hagrid shuffled backwards and stood back up to his full height, his giant dustbin hand wiping away a tear from his cheek. He beamed Harry up and down, before quickly looking back towards the castle and then bending down to pick up his crossbow.

‘Not here, Harry,’ he said desperately, shuffling forwards, ‘c’mon, if they hear yeh sayin’ her name—’

‘Her name?’ Harry asked curiously, as Hagrid began to push him towards his hut.

‘Harry, please. I’ll tell yeh everythin’.’


	2. The Woman in Black

Chapter Two

The Woman in Black

The Minister for Magic sat with her feet up at the head of a long table, lined with an array of delinquent Ministry Officials who were all cowering in her presence. As she casually chewed on her liquorice gum and hummed a merry tune, she was twirling her wand through her brown bushy brown hair which was sleek with pomade. She was quite the intimidating figure, dressed slimly in tight black leather and tall dark heels, with smeared eyeliner, blood-red lipstick and long fingernails which she was inspecting intently.

It had been ten years since Harry Potter had died, and it was fair to say Hermione Granger wasn’t taking it well.

After the war, following the defeat of Lord Voldemort, when it was obvious that the Wizarding World would not be changing anything of their prejudiced ways, it awoken something dark and dangerous inside Hermione. Even before the Second Wizarding War had started, she had been disgusted with the way Purebloods treated everyone else, especially Mudbloods, and so when the only person she ever loved died because of this thought process, she had finally decided to unleash the evil within.

She didn’t just take the Ministry by storm, she took it by sheer force, and ruthlessly eliminating any higher-up members of the Wizengamot council who dared to defy her judgement. There was no wasting time starting from the bottom and working her way to the top. If she had tried to do it ethically, there would have been roadblocks at every turn, but with very little resistance in the form of magical ability in front of her, Hermione quickly and easily became the most powerful Witch of her age. So powerful that there was no one in the Ministry, the country, or even the entire world who could match her.

And so, Hermione Granger became the new Dark Lord, Lady Misery.

That’s what people were calling her now. Well, that was what Purebloods were calling her, the remaining fossils of the world, who were too scared to challenge her and too scared to speak out about her other than behind her back. To the rest, including the Mudbloods that once struggled with Wizarding life, they saw her as this superhero figure of the Wizarding World, scouring the relics of the earth, whose method of thinking was reminiscent of the stone age.

To start with, she had put the Death Eaters on trial, and if any of them were guilty of slaughtering Mudbloods, she would deal with them in return with a flick of her wand and a flash of green light. Next, any known co-conspirators were brought forward to face her, and if guilty, suffered the same fateful consequence without the slightest bit of hesitation. And then finally, all Pureblood families and individuals were forced to make their case of whether they deserved to continue prospering or not.

It was during those trials which showed irrefutable proof that whatever heart Hermione had had left, had died, along with Harry Potter. Whilst it was true there were good, decent, Pureblood families and individuals that were allowed to remain active, there were many others whose track record stood against them, and by Hermione’s reckoning, they had to go.

Hermione didn’t take any prisoners.

As for the rest, well, they were safe as long as they stayed out of her way. She would keep at bay any miscreants within the Ministry who would question a radical muggleborn, who was hell bent on making changes to their old-fashioned ways, being in charge. The majority had fallen into place, however, like all political movements, there are inevitably those who want to revolt, those that want to cut the head of the snake and return the order of business back into the good old days.

There had been a countless number of Purebloods who have challenged her to a duel over the years, none had ever got close to her. Of course, there had been assassination attempts on her life, in various shapes and forms, such as poisons and dangerous magical creatures. At times, she still laughs at the hilariousness of some of the attempts, for most of them, in comparison, she had felt more danger in some of Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures classes during her time at Hogwarts.

Lately, there has been a string of claims from people pretending to be Harry Potter. Snatchers up and down the country have been bringing in all sorts of phony characters, a lot of whom don’t even come close to the man she loved. However, no matter how small or how big the claims from these people are, Hermione insists on checking each one personally, even though it is very clearly her opposition attempting to distract her from her work.

‘Where’s Weasley?’ she sneered suddenly into the empty silence, blowing a black bubble that popped and made everyone jump.

A door to side opened, and a very plump, very sweaty looking Ron Weasley squeezed into the room and waddled towards his sovereign. He was one of the lucky Purebloods to still be working for her, let alone alive. He and his entire family had been fairly compliant toward her methods, however, there had been that one argument with Ginny, who had told her she didn’t like the person Hermione had become.

That had been the hardest Pureblood to silence yet.

‘Here’s today’s agenda, my Lady,’ Ron said cowardly, bowing as he placed it clumsily onto the edge of the long table.

Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up the parchment, before making a face and dropping it again in disgust.

‘Urgh, yuck!’ she said displeasingly. ‘ _What_ have I said about eating before these meetings?’

‘That I shouldn’t, my Lady,’ Ron said in horror, wiping his greasy hands on his round bottom, ‘sorry, my Lady, it was a mistake, my Lady!’

‘Out!’ Hermione swished her wand, shooting red lightning bolts at Ron’s large backside, which burst into flames as he ran yelling from the room.

The congregation of Ministry officials began to chuckle at Ron’s expense, before Hermione glared around at them menacingly, silencing them all at once. She kicked her feet off the table, leaned back in her chair and held her wand between her two forefingers. As she chewed her gum, her eyes darted to each official in turn, noting the sweat forming at each of their temples, and the fear developing in their eyes.

‘Bring in the captive!’ she barked suddenly, once again everyone at the table jumped.

Her voice echoed off the high ceilings, there was a pause, and then another door at the opposite end of the room opened. In walked one of her usual snatchers, some muggleborn she’d long forgotten then name of, and who didn’t test her patience by correcting her whenever she called him ‘Dave’. He was dragging along behind him an unkempt, unshaven man with uncut jet-black hair and untidy robes.

‘Some simpleton, ma’am,’ the snatcher said professionally, giving a little bow, ‘pretendin’ to be ‘Arry Potter.’

The snatcher carelessly threw the man forwards, making him collapsed in a heap at the foot of the table, groaning. The snatcher reached into one of his own pockets, pulled out a silver encrusted hip flask and then he held it up for the room to see.

‘Polyjuice Potion, ma’am,’ the snatcher said, slamming it onto the table and then, acting like it was a long shuffleboard, slid the flask up the length of it to Hermione.

She caught it gracefully when it reached her, clicked open the lid and then brought it up to her nose to smell. Even after all of these years, the smell of Polyjuice Potion reminded her of Harry, and the times gone by. Back then, Harry was the one taking the brew to become someone else for an hour and attempt to fool a person of interest, and now it was the other way around.

‘It’s a very crude likeness,’ the snatcher said simply, lifting the captive to his knees to show the room his face.

‘Still,’ said one of the Ministry officials on the side, ‘who is to say the person he got the strain of hair from isn’t him?’

Hermione lazily brandished her wand at the official and it went off like a gunshot. Everyone in the room but her jumped and yelped, and then looked around at the one official who had spoken, they had an utter look of shock on their face and their mouth had completely gone. Ignoring the gasps of horror of her actions, Hermione cleared her throat to silence the room and then pointing her wand up the table.

‘Bring him to me,’ Hermione said with conviction, her eyes narrowed towards the captive.

It was quite understandable that the snatcher was hesitant in taking the man by the shoulder and dragging him the length of the room towards Hermione. He kicked the man’s legs out, forcing him to fall to his knees, then grabbed a handful of the messy jet-black hair and pulled it backwards, just as Hermione rose from her chair and approached them.

The tip of her wand pressed against the man’s chin, pushing it backwards and up so she could get him to look at her directly. It was true that this man shared a lot of the characteristics of the-boy-who-lived; he had the messy jet-black hair, he had the emerald green eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and he had the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

But this man was not Harry Potter.

‘Where is the man that provided the strain of hair for your transformation?’ Hermione asked with a sneer, her wand was on his neck now, and she was pressing it down with some force, almost making him talk. ‘Tell me now, please.’

The man made a face and tried to spit at her. However, she had predicted this, and she had a spell ready, which she cast without a single breath. It caught the build-up of saliva in the throat, and then shot up a different pipe completely, so that it spilled out of his nose and all down the front of his robes. The officials back at the table began to snigger under their breath uncontrollably, until Hermione clicked her tongue disapprovingly back at them, so they would stop instantly, and then she returned her gaze to the captive and shook her head.

‘Perhaps some Veritaserum, ma’am?’ the snatcher suggested promptly.

‘Quiet!’ Hermione snapped, her eyes and wand flicked in the direction of the snatcher who flinched, but she didn’t curse him, and she returned her attention back to the imposter. ‘I don’t need it with this one, do I? I can tell— you’re going to tell me the truth. So, let’s hear it then. Are you or are you not, Pureblood?’

Silence filled the room.

The man looked, at first, like he wanted nothing more than to answer, but then something began to happen to him. He began thrashing about, his attributes began to change, and the effects of the Polyjuice Potion were beginning to wear off. Hermione stood back and motioned at the snatcher to let it happen. She kept her wand still transfixed on him, watching intently. He became tall, blonde and had very dark grey eyes.

The only similarities between him and Harry Potter now were the wire-rimmed glasses (which he no longer needed) and the lightning bolt shaped scar (which had very obviously been drawn on).

‘Last chance,’ Hermione said, fiercely chewing her gum and pointing her wand at him threateningly, ‘are you a Pureblood?’

‘Proudly! You Mudblood scum—!’

There was a flash of green light that filled the room. The prisoner slumped to the floor in a heap at Hermione’s feet. She shrugged, made a small noise of discontent and twirled her wand casually on the end of her finger, as she returned to her chair and sat back down, putting her feet back up onto the end of the table.

‘Next!’ she yelled out, making everyone jump again, as the snatcher bent over the body in preparation to drag it from the room and dispose of it. ‘Oh, and Dave?’

The snatcher winced as he looked up at Hermione with raised eyebrows.

‘The man who provided the hair for this Pureblood’s transformation?’ she said quietly, blowing another liquorice bubble. ‘Find him for me.’

‘Ma’am,’ the snatcher bowed, grabbed the dead blonde man and dragged him from the room.


	3. The Pureblood War

Chapter Three

The Pureblood War

‘So, let me get this straight,’ Harry said, pacing from one side of Hagrid’s cabin to the other, ‘the Wizarding War that I know finished over ten years ago, and a new war, that you’re calling the Pureblood War, has been going on since then. The Dark Lord that I know is dead., but there is now a New Dark Lord, who is one of my best friends, has spent the past ten years scouring the earth of prejudice Purebloods, in the name of muggleborns, and every innocent witch, wizard or muggle that died at their hands, including me?’

Hagrid, who was still in a state of shock from seeing Harry alive, and was a little exhausted from having to go through a lot of everything that had happened with him, took a minute to catch up to the question before he could answer it.

‘Yeah,’ Hagrid said nervously, quickly taking a sip of his tea.

‘And what about Ron?’ Harry asked finally, the fact hadn’t escaped him that his other best friend was a Pureblood, and the two of them had a history of bickering. ‘Is he—’

‘Alive,’ Hagrid said barely, ‘but yeh wouldn’ recognise him now. He’s her servant.’

Harry slumped down in the chair opposite the half-giant. He was just as exhausted; he’d spent hours pacing, and on top of that, he was still physically recovering from the blow of the Killing Curse. It was messing with his brain this time travel business, how could something that had happened ten years ago, still feel like it had happened ten minutes ago? The idea that he had been in a state of limbo all this time baffled him.

Hagrid had briefly explained, whilst bawling his eyes out, that what happened that night in the clearing had confused everyone. He had not wanted to watch the moment of the Killing Curse, and so his eyes had been closed during the flash of the green light, and it wasn’t until he opened them and saw the Death Eaters searching for the body, that he realised Harry had gone. It had always been assumed that Lord Voldemort had simply destroyed him from existence. There had been no trace at all, nothing, and that’s what everyone had been told, because as far as Hagrid was concerned, it was the truth.

Harry had recounted his own recollection of the moment. He saw the flash of green, of course, but then he had been at King’s Cross Station with Albus Dumbledore, talking about everything, and then the next thing he knew, he woke up in a deserted clearing. None of it made any sense to Harry. The only plausible explanation he could come up with was, he was dreaming, and this was all a bloody nightmare.

But Hagrid had laughed.

‘I’ve spent the past few years pinchin’ meself,’ he said in frustration, ‘wishin’ fer nothin’ more than it ter not be true. But it is. There’s no wakin’ up from this one, Harry. Yer part of it now… _The War on Purebloods_.’

‘Purebloods,’ Harry said out loud, shaking his head, looking across to Hagrid, who bit his tongue and nodded. ‘Okay, putting aside the crazy thought right now that my best friend is… _bumping off Purebloods_ — bloody hell, there’s no way of putting that nicely, is there?’

Hagrid shook his head and swallowed.

‘Do you have a list of these Purebloods she has eliminated?’ Harry asked, looking around curiously as if to expect to see some sort of census. ‘Perhaps, if I could get a better sense of what she’s been doing I can—’

‘Harry, yeh don’ get it!’ Hagrid said, shaking his large shaggy head in concern. ‘This isn’ jus’ a small thing. There isn’ a piece of parchment long enough to write the names of the Pureblood families Her—’ Hagrid shuddered a little, ‘—Lady Misery has wiped out!’

That was another part of this that Harry had yet to come to terms with. She had become so tyrannous within the land, that where Voldemort’s name had been once taboo, it was now frowned upon to speak Hermione’s name. Somewhere, in the back of his head, a small laugh kept playing over and over at how absurd it all sounded, but the more Hagrid spoke and the longer they spent talking about it, the more real it all started to feel.

‘Okay,’ Harry said, trying to be reasonable, ‘let’s start with Hogwarts. Is it safe?’

‘Course it is,’ Hagrid said proudly, pushing out his chest, ‘Professor McGonagall is Headmistress now, of course, she’s doin’ fine runnin’ the place… an’ there’s Flitwick and Sprout that are still teachin’. Those are the ones yeh know—’

‘Professor Slughorn?’ Harry asked curiously, he knew his old potions master was a Pureblood with quite an unsatisfactory history.

‘Well, as a matter o’ fact, no,’ Hagrid said firmly, though he seemed less remorseful with those words, ‘she’s made a few changes and— well, o’ course, you wouldn’ know—’

‘I wouldn’t know what?’ Harry asked promptly, suddenly afraid.

‘She got rid o’ the House of Slytherin, yeh see,’ Hagrid said firmly, nodding his head again at the look on Harry’s face and taking a sip of his tea.

Harry blinked. He couldn’t help but let the side of his mouth twitch. But he didn’t laugh. Hagrid was looking at him intently for his reaction.

‘She got rid of it?’ said Harry, and when he saw the straight face on the half-giant, he was pretty scared to ask the next question. ‘Well— what happens if the Sorting Hat puts you in Slytherin?’

‘I— err…’ Hagrid shook his head again.

He went to sip from his tea, but suddenly, he didn’t feel like drinking it. He put it back down and just stared ahead, as Harry came to terms with the prospect of what he had just been told. It was one thing to want to correct the prejudice amongst Purebloods and Pureblood families with an undesirable track record, at least that he could understand, but children? It couldn’t be true.

What had his friend become?

‘I need to go and see the Headmistress,’ Harry said, standing up immediately, his head was still spinning a little from all of this information.

‘Yeh wha’?’ Hagrid said, he looked up at Harry from his daze. ‘Harry, yeh can’. Everyone thinks yer dead, remember? Yeh can’ just go walking inter Hogwarts like it’s ten years ago—’

‘I have this,’ Harry said, and he pulled from beneath his robes his Invisibility Cloak and showed it to Hagrid, ‘and I have my wand—’

‘Yeah, but, still,’ Hagrid said unconvinced, ‘yeh could give the Headmistress a heart attack—’

‘I’ll be gentle,’ Harry said reassuringly, ‘tell me what the password is to her office.’

‘Nope,’ Hagrid said, shaking his head and getting up from his chair, ‘I should come with yeh—’

‘No, Hagrid,’ Harry said seriously, putting his hand out, ‘I should do this on my own. You will only slow me down.’

‘What if she doesn’ believe yeh?’ Hagrid said quietly, pointing his finger. ‘I barely believed yeh—’

‘She’ll believe me,’ Harry said firmly, sounding confident, ‘just tell me the password to the Headmistress’ office.’

‘All righ’, all righ’!’ Hagrid said, his booming voice stirring Harold from his cushion in the corner. ‘The password is _Dougal_.’

‘ _Dougal_?’ Harry asked curiously.

Hagrid shrugged and slumped back into his large chair, which creaked dangerously under his weight and he reached for his tea again. Harry sighed and wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders. He made his way to the door, where he stopped to stare back at Hagrid, who was mumbling into his dustbin hands.

‘I promise everything will be all right, Hagrid,’ Harry said, getting the half-giant’s attention, ‘I’ll come back when I’ve found the real Her—’ Hagrid winced thinking he was about to hear the name, ‘her…’

He looked up at Harry remorsefully. ‘I wish yeh could, Harry,’ he said slowly, ‘but she isn’ the person yeh knew before. Jus’ be prepared fer that.’

Harry nodded but didn’t really listen. He threw the Invisibility Cloak completely over himself and headed out the front door. He was still a little doubtful that things were as bad as Hagrid had claimed. In the years he had known the half-giant, he had this way of amplifying issues to the extreme, and surely Hermione couldn’t have fallen that far from grace in the space of only ten years.

Lord Voldemort had been pure evil from birth, and yet, it wasn’t until his mid-forties that he finally caused an all-out war. Hermione, quite unbelievably, and impressively if true, seemed to have managed to do it overnight.

The walk back up the slopes of Hogwarts after ten years in the abyss would probably have felt strange to Harry if the time hadn’t passed him by in an instant. But, to him, it was just like returning home after yet another one of his little trips into the Forbidden Forest. Everything seemed to look completely normal, which was nice, but if everything he had been told was true, what lay ahead of him would be nothing short of abnormal.

The moment he’d climbed the familiar front steps, passed through the large oak doors, stepped into the empty Entrance Hall and turned right towards the Great Hall, was the moment things started to get weird for him. His jaw dropped of its own volition when his brain told him what his eyes saw. Where there had once been four long wooden tables stretching the length of the hall, each representing one of the four houses, now, there were only three.

Harry swore loudly.

Suddenly, things were becoming a little too real for him, now that he was seeing what he had been hearing. It was a good thing that the students were all off attending their classes, because his words echoed around the Great Hall before he turned on his heel and headed for the marble staircase. His curiosity of how other things had changed in the past ten years at Hogwarts was thrown aside, for now, his talk with the Headmistress had become far more urgent.

As luck would have it, he managed to reach the corridor which led to the Headmistress tower without encountering a single soul.

‘ _Dougal_ ,’ Harry said to the Gargoyle that stood at the end of the corridor.

It jumped aside, the wall behind it moved away, and he scrambled onto the moving staircase heading upwards. Harry had an overwhelming feeling of anxiety as he stepped off the stone staircase at the top and reached for the gleaming brass knocker attached to the oak door. Should he knock? It seemed like an incredibly bad idea to go into the office without announcing himself, Professor McGonagall was old ten years ago, if he scared her too much, he wouldn’t be able to get any useful information from her.

On the other hand, if she had someone else in there, someone who Harry was not yet ready to reveal he was alive, he could find himself in a difficult position of not knowing all the facts. So, deciding to risk it, he pushed the door open ajar slightly and squeezed inside, his eyes immediately looking towards the Headmistress’ desk.

Professor McGonagall was sitting behind it and she was alone. She had her head down and was scribbling on some parchment with a large feather quill when the sound of her door squeaking open on its hinges made her look up. She made a face when she realised that no one was there. She looked around the office, her eyes darting, and then she slowly put her quill down.

‘Hello?’ Professor McGonagall called out, she took off her glasses and surveyed the room, before very slowly and very casually reaching for her wand.

That’s exactly what Harry wanted.

‘Is anyone there?’ she called out again, raising her wand, ready to strike. ‘ _Homenum Revelio_!’

Harry held tightly onto his Invisibility Cloak. But it was a Hallow after all, it was fairly impervious to any human-presence-revealing spell that Professor McGonagall could perform. She, of course, did not know this. And so, just when she lowered her wand in the slightest, believing to be safe, Harry decided it was time to reveal himself, the only way he knew how.

‘ _Expelliarmus_!’ Harry yelled, brandishing his wand, and making hers fly out of her hand towards him.

‘What?’ whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart as she looked around. ‘No, it couldn’t be… Harry Potter?’

Harry whipped the Invisibility Cloak off to reveal himself, and the Headmistress’ eyes widened in shock at the sight of him.

‘Potter… you’re alive? What—? Where—? How—?’

She struggled to put together a sentence. His appearance seemed to overwhelm Professor McGonagall, just like he feared it would, who slumped back into her chair and clutched the front of her robes.

‘Hello Professor,’ Harry said calmly, folding up the Invisibility Cloak and stepping forwards, ‘I believe we have much to discuss.’


	4. Pureblood Alley

Chapter Four

Pureblood Alley

The offices at the Ministry of Magic had never in history been so empty than they did now. There was significantly less traffic through the Auditorium, there were more unoccupied cubicles than occupied ones in every department and the number of unused elevators that went up and down all the floors had more than tripled. Hermione, nowadays, always found herself alone in the elevators when she made the monotonous trip down to the courtrooms.

Though that may be due to the fact that the last person that had shared an elevator ride with her didn’t make it to the end of the journey.

‘The case notes of today’s hearing, my Lady,’ said a sweaty Ron Weasley once she’d stepped out of the elevator and he’d waddled forward with the parchment, bowing.

‘Urgh, these guys again?’ Hermione said with dissatisfaction, nonchalantly flicking her wand and sending Ron sideways into the wall and out of the way. ‘Talk about your pointless persisting,’ she said to no one, walking away from Ron who eventually managed to right himself and hurry after her, ‘well, I’ve given them their chance of moving on, today it ends.’

She threw the parchment back at Ron, who juggled it and caught it, only to stand back upright and have the door slammed in his face.

‘Boom!’ Hermione yelled once she entered the room, sniggering to herself when she saw everybody instinctively cower.

Hermione made her way across the room, ignoring the participants of the hearing shuffling out of her way, and she reached into one of the pockets of her tight black leather outfit and retrieved a fresh stick of liquorice chewing gum. She popped it into her mouth, climbed the empty stands of the courtroom and took her rightful place middle-row centre in the adjudicators chair, where she sat down, put her feet up, and began to chew.

The group of men below who were due to face the court stared up at her with an unrivalled fear as she casually worked in the new gum, whilst she balanced her wand on the end of her finger and hummed a tune from one of Celestina Warbeck’s songs. Eventually her eyes darted towards the onlookers below, making them flinch, and then she proceeded to blow one of her trademark bubbles that, once again, when it popped, made everyone jump, despite the fact they had been watching her do it.

‘State your case!’ she said into the silence, remaining in her position and raising an eyebrow at them as they looked at one another.

‘Err…’ one of them hesitantly took a half-hearted step forward, Hermione’s attention focused purely on to him, making him sweat, ‘Minister, err— we… uhh— we were under the impression we would be having an audience with the council—’

‘You are,’ Hermione said sternly, pursing her lips, ‘I _am_ listening…’

The man looked over his shoulder at his fellow participants, who shrugged their shoulders and encouraged him to persist.

‘We thought that meant the whole Wizengamot council,’ the man said quietly, ‘where are the other Ministers?’

Hermione surveyed him in silence for a moment. She tried her best not to make too many sudden movements in succession, it tended to cause fully grown men to run screaming from the room. Instead, she slowly kicked her feet out and faced-forward, so that the group only took two large strides backwards, looking frightened.

‘I dissolved the Wizengamot council,’ Hermione stated clearly and precisely, a small flicker of a smile etched across her lips in satisfaction of their reaction. ‘I found their methods to be… _unsatisfactory_. So, _I_ am your council—’

‘That’s not fair!’ yelled one of the men at the back, making Hermione sit up straight and narrow her eyes, which made him in turn retreat and bite his tongue.

‘Not fair?!’ Hermione cried out, slightly outraged, her bushy brown hair crackled with electricity. ‘You want to talk about not fair? How about the past thousand years! Purebloods slaughtering muggles for the fun of it! Muggleborns and Squibs treated like animals! House-elves and Goblins enslaved to the masses as servants! You talk about fairness— Purebloods like you lot don’t get to decide what’s fair and what isn’t anymore! I do!’

The tip of Hermione’s wand began to spit out green sparks dangerously, causing the men below to flinch and retreat again. Hermione’s chest was heaving in anger, she gritted her teeth, raised her wand at them and then paused. _It would be so easy,_ she thought to herself, her blood pressure rising, _I could just do it, and go have my lunch…_

After a minute, in which the group silently begged for their lives, Hermione finally came to her decision and flicked her wand. Instead of a green flash, the room turned a bright white, multiple chairs with restraints shot up from the floor and each individual man was whisked into them and held in place by the straps. Hermione sighed, she sat back in her chair, put her feet up, blew a bubble that popped and then made a hand gesture.

‘State your case.’

She waved her free arm airily at them and the men all looked at each other in turn.

‘We want our businesses back!’

‘We want our homes back!’

‘We’re sick of living on the street!’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hermione said dully, sarcastically mimicking their pleads for help with her hand, ‘I’m not hearing any convincing arguments here—’

‘My family has been running that business for seven generations!’ said the first man, sounding utterly frustrated. ‘Surely that means something! Even to a muggleborn like you!’

‘Ah, yes, Mr Mulpepper,’ Hermione said briskly, her eyes twinkling, ‘the apothecary owner. Weren’t you found to be selling Unicorn’s blood to the highest bidder? That’s illegal for a reason, you know—?’

‘That… was… a mistake!’ Mr Mulpepper exclaimed defensively. ‘I thought it was fake blood! I wouldn’t— I would never—’

‘Aha, sure,’ Hermione said, giving her wand a crack, so that a gag wrapped itself around the man’s throat and mouth, silencing him. ‘Next person, state your case.’

‘I would never sell anything illegal at The White Wyvern!’ the next man yelled proudly, buffing out his chest. ‘I’m an honest man, with an honest profession—’

‘How so?’ Hermione asked curiously. ‘I find that hard to believe, Mr White, I am yet to meet an honest Pureblood that works up your alley.’

‘I sell drinks! That’s all!’ Mr White cried out in anger. ‘The people deserve to drink in these times. But considering you’ve wiped out more regulars at my pub than not—’

‘Surely that says more about you than me?’ Hermione said with a laugh, raising her eyebrows at him. ‘I gave you the opportunity of moving your establishment elsewhere and opening your doors to a better crowd, despite your long list of workplace violations and the fact that you sold _questionable liqueur_. Instead, you’re back here, bothering me – for the third time no less – trying to get your prejudice little corner of the world back up and running!’

Her wand went off again, this time the chair that the barman was sitting on became animated. It kicked Mr White off onto the floor, and then, with a snarl, began to chase him around the courtroom. The barman’s mouth had vanished, rendering him mute, so all he could do was flail his arms and legs madly in an attempt to escape the chair.

Hermione pointed her wand lazily towards the next man in the line. ‘State your case,’ she said with a yawn and a stretch.

When there was no immediate response, Hermione surveyed him properly, and saw that he was glaring up at her, with his eyeballs popping. Hermione raised an eyebrow and stared back, kicking her feet off the bench and narrowing her eyes, waiting. The room was silent except for the scuffle between Mr White and his chair.

Hermione sighed impatiently, flicked her wand, the courtroom flashed green and the man that had been glaring at her suddenly slumped in his chair, lifeless. The rest of the group, excluding Mr White, all looked up at Hermione in horror. She sat there, with her wand outstretched, looking particularly bored with her deadpan stare and eyelids half-closed, whilst chewing mindlessly on her gum.

‘How about you?’

She caught the eyes of the next man along from the deceased, who was understandably mortified at what had just happened, and despite the fact their mouth was open, they were at a loss for words.

‘I… I….’ the man swallowed nervously, and began to sweat, as Hermione’s eyes became slits, and she tightened the grip on her wand, ‘I… I… I—’

‘T-t-t-t today old man!’ Hermione said impatiently with a flick of her wand, the old man clutched for his throat, and his tongue came shooting from his mouth, pelting Mr White right between the eyes and putting him on his backside.

The chair that had been chasing after Mr White all this time, finally seized it’s chanced and came down on top of him, wrapping its legs around his torso and not letting him go.

‘All right, I’ve heard enough,’ Hermione said, getting to her feet, a motion which these days always resulted in the room falling silent, and every eye turning to her, as she twiddled with her wand in her hands. ‘I should have made this official years ago. I made the mistake of giving those of you that were left a second chance, but now I see, it was pointless. I will be closing down Knockturn Alley for good and destroying every last remnant of it— oh, hang on—’

Hermione flicked her wand randomly, making several people below flinch, but she merely made a small booklet and quill appear before her, which she snatched up, opened and began to write.

‘Tuesday, the seventeenth of April,’ Hermione spoke as she wrote, biting her lip and ignoring the audience, ‘ _destroy… Knockturn… Alley…_ ’

She made a rather spectacular flourish of her quill putting in the full stop, then she tapped the items with her wand, and they disappeared again. Her attention once again returned to those still alive, or conscious, staring up at her from the middle of the courtroom. Hermione let out a laugh that made a few of them shudder, and they were even more scared as she shook her head and descended the empty rows.

‘I can’t believe I almost forgot,’ she said, once again twirling her wand threateningly, ‘we need the vote to be official, of course.’

Hermione cleared her throat, blew a bubble with her gum for good luck and then put her free hand to her chest.

‘Those in favour of convicting the accused of all charges?’ said Hermione sweetly, instantly raising her hand with a smile. ‘And all those opposed?’

Hermione put her hand down. She briefly looked around the empty benches of the courtroom. Then she looked down at the accused all still trapped in their chairs, unable to raise their hands, let alone defend themselves.

‘Very well then,’ Hermione said happily, and with a flick of her wand, the floor disappeared, and beneath was nothing but a black hole, that sucked the accused downwards and they slowly began to vanish from sight.

Hermione watched casually with a sigh, as she grabbed one end of her chewing gum, pulling at it with one end clenched between her teeth so that it stretched it as far as she could reach, and then began to twirl it around her index finger. Eventually, the floor of the courtroom returned, empty, and Hermione hopped down from the benches and waltzed her way across to the exit, simply as if nothing had happened.

Waiting patiently outside for her, as always, was the plump figure of Ron, who shot to his feet the moment her heard the door open. She gave him a foul look and then turned her back on him.

‘I’m going downstairs,’ she said simply, beginning to walk away, ‘see that I am not disturbed.’

‘Yes, my Lady!’


	5. The Balance of Life

Chapter Five

The Balance of Life

Professor McGonagall was standing over by one of the large windows of the Headmistress’ office, staring out over the grounds of Hogwarts, contemplating the conversation she had been having for the past hour with Harry Potter, a person she had known to be dead. Like him, she was having difficulties coming to grips with the fact that he had spent the past ten years in some form of unconscious limbo state and that his trip to the future had been instantaneous as far as he was concerned.

‘Who else knows you’re alive?’ Professor McGonagall asked quietly, dropping her head and closing her eyes and trying to think.

‘Only Hagrid,’ Harry said seriously, he was sitting in the guest chair by the Headmistress’ desk, looking through today’s copy of the Daily Prophet. ‘I think.’

Professor McGonagall turned sharply to look at him. ‘What do you mean, you think?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Unless a student or teacher happened to see me out of one of the school windows,’ he said, though that seemed unlikely, ‘and unless Hagrid has told someone—?’

‘Well, I’d better inform Hagrid at once not to tell anyone anything about this,’ Professor McGonagall said sternly, moving back behind her desk, reaching for her quill again and beginning to write Hagrid a note.

‘Why?’ Harry asked, confused.

‘We need to think this through, Potter,’ Professor McGonagall didn’t look up from her note as she talked, ‘your sudden appearance is going to raise a lot of questions. People will want to know what happened to you and where you’ve been all this time. And whether it be true or not, there won’t be many who will be able to accept your story of time travel—’

‘But it’s not a story,’ Harry said angrily, folding up the newspaper and slamming it down on the desk, ‘you do believe me, don’t you?’

‘I must admit I am having difficulties getting my head around it,’ Professor McGonagall looked up from the note and stared at him firmly, ‘but yes, Potter, I believe you are who you say you are, and that you’re sitting before me, alive.’

Harry wanted to point out that she left the time travel part out, but she got to her feet and walked away. She rolled up the note to Hagrid into a little scroll, crossed to a large owl sitting on a perch by one of the windows and began attaching it to the leg.

‘Then, of course, when word starts to get out and Lady Misery finds out—’ Professor McGonagall gave a little shudder before opening the window for the owl and sending it on its way, ‘—she will want to come and find you for herself, and unless you can unquestionably convince her that you are the real Harry Potter, then she will certainly kill you just like the others— or at least try to kill you, anyway. You seem to be quite unkillable, Potter.’

‘Thanks, I think,’ Harry said with a shrug, before looking up at her questionably, ‘what do you mean by _others_?’

‘There have been some Harry Potter doppelgangers,’ Professor McGonagall said, returning to her seat, ‘imposters to be truthful. People keep managing to find vague look-a-likes of you around the world, and have been taking Polyjuice Potion with their hairs, in attempt to throw-off Lady Misery from her agenda—’

‘Has it really got so bad that nobody can speak Hermione’s name?’ Harry asked, once again Professor McGonagall flinched and looked anxiously towards the window.

‘It’s complicated, Potter,’ she said automatically, though she once again reached for her wand, which Harry had fetched after he’d disarmed her, and allowed her to cast as many anti-masking spells on him as she liked, until she determined it was the real Harry Potter.

‘I get that,’ Harry said slowly, ‘that’s why I thought you’d be glad to see me alive—’

‘I am glad,’ Professor McGonagall said loudly, sitting upright in her chair.

‘Would everyone else not be?’ Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘From what Hagrid tells me, Hermione has done some terrible things at Hogwarts as well, surely the parents—’

‘You should know better not to believe everything Hagrid tells you,’ Professor McGonagall said seriously, ‘I pleaded with Dumbledore for decades to get rid of Slytherin House. He never had the heart to do it, not even after Tom Riddle came along, and did what he did. I must admit, out of everything she has done, doing away with the Slytherin’s is one of the decisions I wholeheartedly agree with.’

‘What?’ Harry said in disbelief. ‘You approve of her bumping off first-year children sorted into Slytherin?’

‘What? Is that what Hagrid told you?’

Professor McGonagall looked horrified. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and reached for another piece of parchment and began to write another note.

‘He can be a bit of an oaf with his words sometimes, our Hagrid,’ Professor McGonagall said, which indicated who she was writing the letter too, ‘not even Voldemort would have resorted to slaughtering young children at Hogwarts, Potter—’

‘Oh, so, _his_ name you can say,’ Harry said, rolling his eyes, ‘all right, perhaps I was silly to believe something so extreme, but there’s only three tables in the Great Hall. What _does_ happen to the first-year students when they are sorted in to Slytherin House?’

‘They are put to work in the kitchens,’ Professor McGonagall said, rolling up the second note to Hagrid firmly, ‘and they have to follow the orders of the House-Elves, which includes cooking and cleaning and preparing.’

Professor McGonagall shrugged away the absurdness of that sentence and took her note over to the empty perch, just as the large owl returned from its first delivery and stuck out it’s leg in wait for the next. Harry sat there for a moment. He couldn’t help the small smile appear on his face as he thought of the satisfaction Hermione would have gotten for writing rules like that, after all those attempts at recruiting people into S.P.E.W.

‘Actually,’ Professor McGonagall said, returning to her chair before Harry spoke and surveying him carefully across the desk, ‘putting the bloodshed aside, there are valid arguments to suggest that what Lady Misery has been doing for the past ten years could be viewed, comprehensively, as a positive thing.’

Harry blinked at her. ‘How?’

‘Aside from destroying Pureblood lineage, what else has Hagrid told you about the things she has done?’ Professor McGonagall asked, reaching into one of her drawers and pulling out a large leather-bound book, which she set down in front of her.

‘Err…’ Harry hesitated for a moment, thinking, ‘well there’s the Slytherin thing—’

‘Right, well, it’s been ten years remember, so a lot has happened,’ she said, opening the book to a specific page and running her finger down a long line of names. ‘You know already about the Purebloods. Well, the more of them that go, the less the magical population becomes, and a much fewer amount of mouths need feeding. Now, personally, I think the Wizarding World was already lacking in numbers as it was, but then we had that event with the Unicorns a few years back and—’

‘What event?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘Unicorns surged in numbers,’ Professor McGonagall said clearly, ‘I don’t know how much attention you paid in your Care of Magical Creatures class, Potter, but they were close to becoming endangered, they were all dying off because their blood fetch such a high price on the Black Market— well, Lady Misery put an end to that as well—’

‘Hermione ended the Black Market?’ Harry asked in disbelief, sounding astonished.

‘It isn’t completely gone, but it has become far less active, and you can see why some believe the work Lady Misery is doing could be viewed as positive,’ Professor McGonagall said, turning the page of her book.

‘What about all the people she has killed for this purpose though?’ Harry pointed out. ‘It sounds awfully like the way Voldemort used to run things, kill people to get his way.’

‘Depends on who you ask,’ Professor McGonagall said nodding her head, ‘to the Purebloods, well yes, there’s many who have likened her to Voldemort. But there are those out there, even amongst staff and students at Hogwarts, who believe the work Lady Misery is doing could be considered, well, plausible—’

‘And you?’ Harry asked her specifically, raising his eyebrows. ‘You keep calling her Lady Misery—’

‘It just a name that the papers gave her, and it stuck. I could never condone a killer, Potter,’ she said seriously and professionally, however there was a slight glint in her eye, ‘a visionary on the other hand, well, perhaps there is something to the logic of her thinking. I wonder if you could guess what became of the Restricted Section in our library here at Hogwarts?’

‘She removed it?’ Harry guessed.

‘She destroyed it,’ Professor McGonagall corrected him, ‘every last Dark Arts book on the shelves at the school were dispensed into the most well-contained Fiendfyre that has ever been recorded—’

‘Fiendfyre?’ Harry asked with concern. ‘Hermione told me she would never dare use that kind of Dark Magic, because it’s so dangerous—’

‘Evidently, Potter, the darkness inside her thought differently, because I saw her using it,’ Professor McGonagall said seriously, ‘remember, the friend you thought you knew ten years ago – or I guess it was yesterday for you – is now at the level of performing Unforgivable Curses mindlessly, a bit of fire is nothing—’

‘Right,’ Harry said nodding, the pit of his gut gave a little churn at the thought.

‘She didn’t just stop at destroying the Dark Arts stock at our library,’ Professor McGongall went on, ‘she went to other schools as well, and to the Ministry, and to countless Ministries across the globe. In fact—’

Professor McGonagall flipped through her book a few more times in search of a specific page.

‘This is the quote she gave, when asked why she was doing the things she’d done,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘ _only with the destruction of all Dark Magic material in existence, such as books, instruments and artefacts, can Wizardkind hope to move forwards with any chance of harmony. Deficiencies in our history such as Gellert Grindlewald and Tom Riddle should not be allowed to repeat itself, otherwise those who laid down their lives in the great wars, those we cared about, such as the man that I loved, will have only sacrificed themselves in vein…’_

‘The man that I loved?’ Harry repeated curiously, ‘who is she talking about?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘You didn’t know?’ Professor McGonagall asked seriously, pausing for effect. ‘You may not like hearing this, Potter, but you are partly the reason why she has been doing this, why she’s been so determined to do all of it and why she doesn’t look to be slowing down any time soon.’

Harry sat there for a minute as he digested this piece of information. He had known, of course, from Hagrid, that Hermione had been purging Purebloods due to their cruel behaviour towards muggles and muggleborns. She had always felt that way about magical prejudice, but to find out that the news of his death had been the trigger that sent her into the downward spiral she was now on, because she had loved him, rendered him speechless.

‘She’s still going?’ Harry asked, after taking a moment to collect himself. ‘What on earth is there even left to get rid of?’

Professor McGonagall picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet that Harry had thrown onto the desk earlier and turned to a page he had not yet seen. Harry eyed it suspiciously, gave his former teacher a glance, and then snatched it up, reading the headline and snipped on the front:

The Death of Knockturn Alley

In a courtroom hearing earlier today, several remaining shop owners from the infamous Knockturn Alley were given the inevitable news that, sometime next week, their land and livelihood will be destroyed. Lady Misery, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, barely needed an hour to deliberate the fate of the Purebloods and their shops, which was confirmed by an unnamed Ministry official, who also informed the press that Lady Misery would be executing the decision sometime next Tuesday—

Harry lowered the newspaper and looked back at Professor McGonagall.

‘I know getting rid of Knockturn Alley is a good thing,’ Harry said seriously, ‘but if you’re trying to tell me to look on the bright side of all of this—?’

‘I just wanted you to have all of the facts, Potter,’ Professor McGonagall said flippantly.

‘I need to go and see her for myself,’ Harry said, standing up and throwing the newspaper down onto the desk again, ‘I need to talk to her, see what’s become of her, see if the Hermione Granger I know is still in there, somewhere, somehow—’

‘You always did have a hero complex, didn’t you Potter?’ asked Professor McGonagall, surveying him thoroughly. ‘Did you ever stop to think, that maybe this time, there’s no one there left to save?’

Harry stared at her unblinkingly for a moment. ‘No,’ he said loudly and firmly, ‘I’m not about to give up hope on Hermione. She wouldn’t give up on me.’

And Harry actually turned to leave.

‘You can’t just go walking into the Ministry of Magic, Potter,’ she said fiercely, making Harry turn back around and face her, ‘you’ve been dead for ten years, remember? If you do insist on going on this suicide mission regardless, then, you need to come up with a plan. Think it over. Get someone to help.’

Harry slumped forwards in defeat, his hands clutched the edge of the desk and he looked down at it in despair. Aside from the newspaper he’d just thrown down, a bunch of quills, parchments and the black boon Professor McGonagall was pouring over, there were some piles of coins on the side of the desk, which Harry automatically reached for and grabbed one of the Galleons.

‘Potter?’ Professor McGonagall asked inquisitively.

‘Tell me Professor, do you remember Dumbledore’s Army?’ he asked quietly, raising his eyebrows.

‘Certainly.’

‘Are any of its former members still at Hogwarts?’ he asked, turning the Galleon over in his hand. ‘I think it’s time to get the band back together.’


	6. The Broken Memories

Chapter Six

The Broken Memories

_Nine Years Ago_

Hermione turned on the spot and left behind the cold of England and arrived in the heat of Australia. The Sunshine Coast was in the north-east part of the country, encompassed with beach resorts, surf spots and rural hinterland. It was the perfect place for her parents to go in retirement, where they could enjoy many of the wonders the world has to offer, such as national parks, multi-coloured sandy beaches, mangrove forests and expansive lakes.

Hermione didn’t want to take them away from their new life, full of warmth and relaxation and enjoyment, but it would be nice, now that the war was over, if they knew that had a daughter again. Perhaps selfishly of her, she wanted her parents again, because even after a year, Harry’s death had taken its toll on her.

The house her parents were living in now was a fair few miles in from the main coast line. It was a lovely little plot of land, not too isolated that it was the middle of nowhere, but also enough that they had their privacy, and could lounge about in the sun out on the grass lawn of their vast back yard. Like most of the architecture in Queensland, Australia, the house was raised on long wooden stumps several metres off the ground, a necessary precaution for a part of the world renown for having flash floods.

It was a white, single-story dwelling with a veranda that extended all the way around the house and a corrugated iron rood to help keep the heat of the sun out. When Hermione walked in the front gate, she could see her parents up on the veranda, having their afternoon cup of tea. As she got further up the path, they eventually spotted her and her father stood up, reached the balcony with his hand blocking the glare from the sun and looking down at her.

‘Hello there,’ he called out, he sounded rather casual considering there was this random stranger wandering into the yard without any warning. ‘Can we help you? Are you lost?’

Hermione had thought ahead about what she was going to say to them, about how she would sell herself so that they might at least allow her to sit down with them and have a conversation without feeling threatened. But now that she was this up close and could see them again, she felt her nerves kick in and she was momentarily lost for words. Her father was watching her closely as she tried to get the cog in her brain to kick back into gear again.

‘Oh, yes, hello,’ Hermione said kindly, stopping at a comfortable distance that deemed to be appropriate. ‘My name is Hermione G- err... Hermione. I was wondering if I could talk to you about our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ?’

Her father looked down at her inquisitively, looking around at his wife, they whispered something together, and then he looked back down at her with a smile.

‘Come on up for some tea,’ he said kindly in return, and with a small sense of relief, Hermione moved forwards to the stairs and began to climb them.

Hermione wasn’t very religious, nor really were her parents. They had both been brought up in catholic families, they had both spent time in church, and they’d both studied the bible, but mostly at a basic level, never anything serious. But something they were always passionate about, and which they taught their daughter even from a young age, was that the right thing to when someone came knocking on your door, even if you didn’t agree with their views, was to invite them in for a cup of tea.

Hermione’s heart began to race again as she got to the top of the stairs and was up onto the veranda. It was full of plot plants, all growing various herbs and spices or multi-coloured flowers from the nearby region. The outside table had been put in the corner, and as Hermione approached, her parents were sitting on one side of it and there was an empty chair prepared for her opposite them.

‘Please sit with us,’ her mother said kindly, gesturing to the chair as she poured some hot water through tea leaves. ‘How do you like your tea, dear?’

‘Black is fine, thanks,’ Hermione said nervously, setting her bag down beside herself and sitting down.

‘I must say,’ her father said scratching his chin, ‘it is quite unusual for one of your lot to be door knocking alone. Don’t you usually work in pairs?’

Hermione tried to look casual as she took the cup of tea from her mother, but in reality, she was turning over her brain for a quick answer.

‘There’s a lot more ground to cover outside of the city,’ Hermione said, thinking on her feet (despite the fact that she was seated), ‘we do one side of the street each. It’s rare out this far from church to find someone interested—’

‘You don’t look the part either,’ her mother side quietly, it sounded like it should have been an insult, but she was smiling as she said it, so maybe she thought it was okay. ‘I don’t think I can ever remember meeting a Jehovah’s Witness wearing a pair of denim jeans—’

‘Yes, you’re not even wearing any black at all,’ her father said suspiciously, ‘and I don’t even SEE a bible—’

‘It’s in my bag,’ Hermione said hastily, trying to defuse the situation before it starts. ‘Do you mind if I reach for it? There’s nothing dangerous about me, I promise.’

Her parents nodded and Hermione did reach into her bag and pull something out, but it wasn’t the bible. It wasn’t even a book. It was her wand. They looked at it with confused faces, much like they did the last time she’d drawn her want on them. But the moment they realised she wasn’t who she said she was, was when their attitude towards her changed.

‘What is that?’ Her mother asked.

‘What are you planning to do with it?’ Her father demanded of her.

‘Hopefully,’ Hermione said calmly, as she slowly pointed her wand towards them, ‘in a few moments, you will remember everything and understand exactly what I’m doing.’

With their eyes fixated on the end of the wand, Hermione started muttering the incantations to the reversal spell under her breath, in an attempt to restore her parent’s memories. When she had finished what she hoped had been the correct procedure, and her mother and father were sat there still looking downwards and confused, she put her wand away in the hope of not overloading them right away.

Her father was the first to look up at her.

‘Dad?’ she asked quietly, hopefully, and barely in a whisper.

‘What happened?’ Her father asked, blinking and looking slightly groggy. ‘What did you do to us?’

‘My head feels funny,’ said her mother, putting a hand up to her temple and grimacing, ‘why am I remembering England?’

‘Mum, dad,’ Hermione said earnestly, ‘sitting up in her chair to get their attention, ‘it’s me, Hermione… your daughter…’

‘Daughter?’ Her father looked confused. ‘We don’t have a daughter.’

Hermione was instantly worried about how her father had said that as a fact, rather than in question.

‘Yes you do!’ Hermione said pleadingly as she got to her feet. ‘Me! I’m your daughter. Please, just listen—’

‘I think you should leave,’ her father said rather firmly, he’d got to his feet also and was looking pretty angry as he helped his wife from the table towards the front door, ‘before we call the police—’

‘Don’t do that, please, I just need you to remember me,’ she said desperately, attempting to get between them and the front door. ‘Mum, please! You’re remembering England because that is where you used to live, that is where you are from, that is where I am from… that is where _we_ are from! You both worked there as dentists, that’s how you met! And you had a family— you had me… please mum!’

‘But I—’

‘Don’t listen to her dear, call the police,’ her father said to his wife, closing the door behind her and turning to face Hermione. ‘You need to leave—’

‘Dad, no, please don’t do this—’

‘I’m not your dad,’ he said firmly, crossing his arms, ‘I don’t know who you are or how you knew we were dentists, or what you did to my wife with your stick—’

‘It’s a wand,’ Hermione said quickly, she was desperate to say anything now. ‘I’m a witch. I was using magic. I was _trying_ to restore your memories. I was _trying_ to get you to remember your only daughter! I was _trying_ to get you to remember me!’

‘Witch? Magic? You’re talking nonsense!’ Her father said disapprovingly, looking outraged. ‘You are not talking the way I would expect a member of the catholic church to be talking—’

‘What? No, dad, it was just a rouse, please, let me explain—’

‘For the last time, I am not your father,’ he said loudly, slightly scaring her and making her step backwards. ‘We don’t have a daughter. We tried having one, but it didn’t work out—’

‘—that’s just what I made you believe—’

‘Please don’t think about coming back here,’ he told her firmly, ‘I don’t want you upsetting my wife, any more than you already have—’

‘But dad—’

‘I said go!’ He said hoarsely, stepping backwards into his house, and Hermione could tell that his voice had started to crack, because the moment had finally got to him. ‘I suggest not being here when the police show up.’

‘Dad no,’ Hermione said tearfully, as the door slammed in her face and tears began pouring out of her eyes.

She collected her bag and begrudgingly retreated down the steps of the veranda and out onto the yard. Towards the end of the driveway, by the front gate, she looked back at her parents house with her eyes still spilling with tears until she heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance and decided it was probably time to leave.

If her heart wasn’t broken before the death of Harry Potter, it was now.


	7. The Scattered Army

Chapter Seven

The Scattered Army

Professor Neville Longbottom swallowed hard as he gave the password to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress’ office and it jumped aside. The panel behind it slid out of the way to reveal the moving staircase, which he stepped onto and made the journey upwards to the familiar large oak doors with the griffon knocker. Covered in earth and looking rather confused as to why Professor McGonagall was all of a sudden summoning him to her office, Neville stepped forwards and swung the knocker against the wood several times before being ordered to enter.

‘You wanted to see me, Professor McGonagall?’ Neville asked nervously, taking a precarious step over the threshold.

‘Yes, Longbottom, please come in,’ she said from behind her desk with her usual stern look on her face, ‘and what have I told you about calling me that? I’m not your Professor anymore.’

‘Oh, right,’ Neville closed the door behind himself and swallowed hard again. ‘Sorry, Minerva.’

He had always struggled to adjust calling her by her first name. For seven years she had questioned his abilities in her classroom, and despite the fact that they had reached a mutual respect after his heroics in the war, he could never shake thinking of her as his Professor. When it came to Herbology, however, she had never had any doubts in his abilities when hiring him, and now as an understudy to Professor Sprout, Neville would be ready to take over once she retired.

‘Sit down, Longbottom,’ Professor McGonagall said tensely, gesturing towards the chair opposite her.

Neville approached the desk apprehensively as he looked around the room, expecting someone or something to suddenly jump out at him. Eventually he decided that he ought to just follow her instructions and so he promptly sat down.

‘What’s this about?’ he asked cautiously, he still kept glancing around the room, because he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that he was being watched. ‘This isn’t about Mr Filch finding me and Han— err, Miss Abbott in the Staff Room, is it—?’

‘I have no interest in Mr Filch’s mindless ramblings, Longbottom, and I’d rather not know about your personal time with your girlfriend,’ Professor McGonagall said coldly, ‘this is over another matter entirely. A rather important matter I might add, one that I would very much like you to take seriously, please.’

‘Oh, right, of course,’ Neville said, nodding his head and sitting up straight.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, glanced across the room, and then looked back at Neville.

‘Well, Longbottom, I won’t waste too much of your time, I’ll get straight to the point,’ she said in a surprisingly gentle voice, ‘but I must warn you, what I’m about to reveal to you, what _we_ are about to reveal to you, is going to be somewhat of a shock.’

‘We?’ Neville asked fearfully, and once again he started looking quickly around the room.

‘Yes, I’ll get to that in a minute,’ Professor McGonagall said, clearing her throat, ‘but first there’s something you should probably know. Harry Potter is alive.’

Neville blinked stupidly. ‘What?’

‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions,’ said Professor McGonagall promptly, in an attempt to sound calm. ‘so, before we get to the reunion, what would you like to know—?’

‘Wait,’ Neville said seriously, looking baffled, ‘what are you saying? Harry’s—’

‘Alive, yes,’ Professor McGonagall said calmly, ‘I’ve seen him, Longbottom. In this very office. Sitting in that very chair you’re sitting in now. I performed every anti-masking jinx I could think of, every counter-curse, every revealing spell and as far as I’m concerned, he is the real Harry Potter. No Polyjuice Potion, no look-alike, no tricks.’

Neville was looking down at the chair he sat on in shock. There was a look on his face, as he glanced around the office with his mouth open, that might suggest he believed Professor McGonagall was having him on.

Either that or she’d lost the plot completely.

‘If you’re ready, Longbottom,’ she said after a moment, when it was clear he did not know what to say, ‘I could ask for him to reveal himself to you? He can explain everything that has happened to him up until now. All he has to do is take off his Invisibility Cloak—’

‘Invisibility Cloak?’ Neville made a face that clearly suggested he seriously doubted that someone was about to appear from nowhere, and especially not Harry Potter.

But that’s exactly what did happen.

‘I just have one question,’ Harry said, throwing the cloak off himself and grinning at Neville, who jumped, ‘what exactly did Mr Filch catch you and Hannah Abbott doing in the Staff Room?’

Neville turned a shade of red Harry had never seen before, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell sideways off the chair, unconscious.

~ * ~

‘We were supposed to be easing him into the news gently,’ Professor McGonagall said in frustration, as she and Harry lifted Neville back into the chair together and attempted to revive him.

‘He’ll be okay,’ Harry said in amusement, clicking his fingers in front of Neville’s face, ‘fainting is in his nature—’

‘This is a serious matter, Potter—’

‘I know,’ Harry said seriously, and together they eventually managed to get Neville to come around, where once he was settled, he managed to speak.

‘Harry,’ he said, looking rather pale and sweaty, ‘it is you.’

‘Sure is, mate,’ Harry said, plopping down into the chair next to him, ‘sorry about giving you a fright. But I’m kind of in need of your help right now—’

‘But how?’ Neville asked, sounding completely flummoxed. ‘How are you here? How are you alive?’

‘Guess I owe you more of an explanation than just jumping out from under my Invisibility Cloak, huh?’ Harry said with a laugh, putting out his hand to greet an old friend.

Harry began to explain everything that had happened to him since they had last seen each other, when he had been walking down the slopes of Hogwarts, towards his impending death. He recalled as much information as he could remember, explaining his walk into the Forbidden Forest (he left out the part about the Resurrection stone) then confronting Voldemort in a clearing surrounded by Death Eaters, which was where he got hit with the Killing Curse.

He explained his meeting with Albus Dumbledore at a marble white King’s Cross Station, making sure to explain it felt like it had taken place in his head, rather than in an alternate universe or dimension. By the time he woke up, he was under the impression no amount time had passed, and yet he found himself lying alone in the same clearing, not a soul to be found. Then he recounted his confusion in coming out of the forest, being discovered by Hagrid, and then finding out ten years had passed, before coming up to see the Headmistress.

Like Professor McGonagall, Neville was finding it difficult to get his head around the time travel scenario, but it didn’t let him stop believing Harry Potter was right in front of him. Perhaps it was the way Harry spoke that made Neville trust him, rather than the story itself; his voice, his mannerisms, his hand gestures were all Harry Potter like. Either way, when Harry began to explain that he needed help concocting a plan to get into the Ministry, by tracking down the old members of Dumbledore’s Army, Neville agreed to help.

‘Who do you still keep in touch with?’ Harry finally asked, once they were in agreement.

‘Anyone who is still alive,’ Neville said promptly, ‘and wants to be kept in touch with.’

‘I don’t want to think about who is dead,’ Harry said dryly, ‘I just want to know how who we can go and see, that might be interested in helping?’

‘Hmm, not many,’ Neville said honestly, and sadly, ‘everyone from back then have become rather scared of what Lady Misery has become. She was the best out of all of us, remember? Besides maybe you, Harry.’

‘Well, all right, I’ll leave you to decide who you think would be willing,’ Harry said with a sigh, ‘but how do we contact them? Do you still have your fake Galleon?’

‘Fake Galleon?’ Professor McGonagall asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

‘It’s how we arranged our meetings,’ Harry explained quickly, ‘I’d change the date on my fake Galleon, and it would automatically change everyone else’s.

‘Indeed,’ said Professor McGonagall, looking slightly impressed, ‘isn’t that a Protean Charm, Potter? That’s N.E.W.T standard, quite commendable—’

‘Well, actually, it was Hermione who did it,’ Harry said, making the two of them wince.

‘That’s why we don’t use them anymore,’ Neville explained seriously, ‘because Lady Misery might have kept hers, and we decided we didn’t like the idea that she might know what we were up to. So, we’ve got our own ways now.’

‘Then let’s get do it,’ Harry said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Who do we go see first?’

Neville looked cautiously at Professor McGonagall, who cleared her throat and sat upright in her chair.

‘You may take a temporarily leave of absence, Longbottom,’ she said carefully, ‘I will inform Professor Sprout that your reason for leaving is personal, and you may then tell her whatever you feel is appropriate when you get back—’

‘ _If_ I get back,’ Neville corrected her anxiously, looking sideways at Harry.

‘I appreciate you helping me, Neville,’ Harry said purposefully, reading the look his friend was giving him like a book, ‘but if you’re worried—’

‘I’m not worried,’ Neville said quickly, sitting upright, ‘why would I be worried?’

‘Well, you have someone now, a girl, a life,’ Harry said with a smile, as Neville started turning red again. ‘Did I hear right that she’s your girlfriend now—?’

‘We we’re only kissing!’ Neville said out of the blue, confusing both Harry and Professor McGonagall.

‘What?’ Harry asked, at first, he was taken aback, but then he couldn’t help but let the sides of his mouth twitch.

‘Me and Hannah, in the Staff room,’ Neville was giving the Headmistress’ a look, who raised an eyebrow curtly, ‘isn’t wasn’t anything inappropriate—’

‘Yes, yes, we’re all real please for you and Miss Abbott,’ Professor McGonagall said, promptly turning to face Harry, ‘listen Potter—’

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and attempted to get Neville out of her direct eyeline before she spoke.

‘I told you earlier that there are those out there that believe what Lady Misery is doing could be considered profitable,’ she said firmly, narrowing her eyes, ‘so, whoever you and Longbottom go and visit, you ought to prepare yourself for quite a lot of them saying no. Harry Potter or not, a lot of them might have decided a long time ago that keeping out of what Lady Misery is doing is probably for the best. There will also be those, me included, who have seen enough wars already, and are done with fighting and just want to live in peace—’

‘I know,’ Harry said quietly, ‘I’m not going to take it personally if everyone says no. Even if I have to save Hermione on my own, I will.’


	8. Hermione’s Lament

Chapter Eight

Hermione’s Lament

_ Ten Years Ago _

‘Hermione? What are we doing in here?’

‘Be quiet. Just keep a look out.’

‘Hermione, no—’

‘I said shut it!’

As carefully as she dared, Hermione Granger began to climb her way down the steep steps of the dimly lit, rectangular room. Her eyes were fixated on the raised platform at the bottom, and they widened in anticipation as she approached the archway, which was inset with a blackened velvety veil and was fluttering at her in an inviting manner. The last time she had visited this place, she had been with Harry Potter, who had been able to hear voices, but she could not.

A month ago, Harry had died, the war had ended, and then the dreams had started. They’d been vague, she knew they were trying to tell her something, and it had taken her this long to figure out that she was being brought here. She knew it was a dangerous place, she knew she was a little out of her depth, but she had to come, she had to know, and sure enough, as she stood there with the hairs standing on the back of her neck, she could hear a voice.

And it was his voice.

‘Harry?’ she whispered hopefully, it sounded like him, she knew she wanted it to sound like him, and even though it probably wasn’t, she could be forgiven for hoping it was him.

Hermione kept taking precarious steps forward, fearful that she may be sucked into an oblivion at any moment. The voice was a faint, short whisper, like someone was trying to barely make a sound, but it was there, however incoherent. But whether it was a something, someone or some being talking to her, just on the other side of the veil, she didn’t know.

‘Can we please go?’ asked her co-worker from up above. ‘I don’t like this place.’

Hermione ignored them. She got as close as she dared, turning her head, listening intently for a voice, for _his_ voice.

‘ _Hermione—’_

‘Harry?’ she called out again, drowning out the whispers, and she cursed herself, sharpening her ears again in hope of hearing more.

‘Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!’

Hermione was found out. An Unspeakable appeared beside her out of nowhere and had her under the arm and was soon dragging her and her co-worker out of the Department of Mysteries.

~ * ~

_ Eight Years Ago _

‘You can’t deny me access!’

‘Yes, I can. I only report to the Minister. Not his bookworm secretary.’

Hermione was stamping her feet up and down the corridor that lead to the Department of Mysteries. An Unspeakable, possibly the head of the department, was standing in her way with his arms cross, refusing to let her “inspect” the veil, and with a smug grin on his face the entire time.

‘I am not his secretary!’ Hermione said loudly, though she made a point not to correct the bookworm remark. ‘I am his successor, and I suggest if you want to keep your job when I take over, you let me in—’

‘Successor? Yeah right,’ the Unspeakable said, throwing his head backwards as he laughed out loud, ‘like they’d ever let one of you become Minister.’

Hermione’s eyes became slits.

‘What do you mean, _one of you?_ ’ she asked, like she didn’t know.

‘You’re a filthy Mudblood.’

Hermione grinded her teeth. ‘And let me guess, you’re—?’

‘Pureblood! Yeah, that’s right, so what—?’

A flash of green light filled the corridor, and before the Unspeakable had had a chance to see what happened, before he could even compute that Hermione had gone for her wand, he was lying dead at her feet, and she was stepping over him.

‘So, you should have let me pass,’ she said coldly, ‘ _that’s what!_ ’

It wasn’t the first Pureblood Hermione had killed for Harry Potter, and it wouldn’t be the last.

~ * ~

_ Six Years Ago _

Hermione had her head pressed against the stone of the archway, tears were running down her cheeks, as she listened to the incoherent whispers of Harry Potter from just beyond the veil. It had been two years without him now, and every day was getting harder to go along in life like everything was okay, because everything was not okay. This was the only place in the world where she felt something, where she could hear his voice, however briefly, and give her hope that this world still had something meaningful for her in it.

Hermione believed that the whispers meant something. She was sure they were trying to tell her something, that Harry was trying to tell her something, something important, and that he wanted her to listen, and to act, as if somehow, it may save him, or at least save her.

‘Please, I don’t know what you’re saying,’ she whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes and putting out her hand, reaching as far towards the blackness of the veil as she dared.

She knew it was dangerous, she knew she shouldn’t be down here, let alone touching it, but— it just kept calling to her. She couldn’t concentrate working upstairs, she couldn’t eat sometimes, and she couldn’t sleep more than a few hours. And even when she did, she would dream, endlessly, about this place, about Harry Potter, and about what’s beyond the veil.

‘Harry,’ she said just barely, closing her eyes and concentrating on nothing but him, his face, his touch, his voice—

‘ _It… is… your… destiny…_ ’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, continuing to reach for the veil. ‘Destiny? Harry, I— don’t understand—’

She heard a door slamming somewhere in the distance and her eyes flew open. Her hand, which was still reaching for the veil, was turning black, and she pulled it back as quickly as she could in fear. After a moment, with her heart racing, and her hand returning to a normal colour, she decided it was probably time she got out before she was discovered again.

~ * ~

_ Four Years Ago _

‘TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME!’

Hermione’s screams echoed around the walls of the steep veil room, as she stared down the archway in front of her, furious and frustrated from the lack of guidance. She was still in the process of transforming into what would eventually become Lady Misery. She didn’t wear black leather, instead just normal jeans and a sweater, but they were dark colours, and she had started to smear on thin eyeliner and red lipstick to intimidate the masses.

‘I’ve done what you’ve asked!’ she said boisterously, her chest heaving. ‘I’ve destroyed as much Dark Magic as I can. Scoured the earth of as many prejudice Purebloods as I could find. What more do you want? Why won’t you give me peace? SOMETHING!’

Hermione fell backwards onto her arse on the stone floor. She crossed her legs and buried her face in her hands, feeling utterly exhausted. Even if Harry Potter walked out from beyond that veil now to save her, would he even want to? She was so completely unrecognisable, even to herself, when she looked in the mirror of a morning.

‘ _Hermione…’_

Hermione looked up suddenly from her spot on the floor. Harry’s voice was calling for her, again, but still there was no sign of him. Hermione frowned as she scrambled to her feet, she craned her head to peer around the edge of the archway, but there was still no one there. She began to cry again, but noiselessly, and then she clenched her fists and began to walk towards it.

‘I’ve had it!’ she said, coming to a halt on the threshold of the veil and gritting her teeth. ‘If you’re not going to come to me, after everything that I have done, the bugger it, I’m going to come to you!’

And going against every moral fibre of her being, Hermione stepped into the veil, and felt her body rush with blood. For a moment, she really thought she had stepped into some sort of oblivion, perhaps even into death, but when she opened her eyes, and saw the empty benches of the opposite side of the room, with the veil behind her, she realised, she had just walked straight thought it.

Perhaps whoever or whatever was beyond the veil, wasn’t ready for her yet.

Hermione stood there stunned for several minutes. Then, she suddenly felt the pressure of something in one of her clenched hands, which hadn’t been there before. She brought her shaking hand up to her eyeline and opened it. Sitting in her palm was the smallest, prettiest, most colourful jewellery box she’d ever seen.

‘ _Open… it…’_ Harry’s voice was so close, that it was like he’d whispered in her ear.

Hermione shivered, and after looking down at the thing in her hand for a moment, she automatically reached for the lid and popped it open, expecting to find some sort of answer within.

But it was empty.

However, she felt a breath of coolness instantly washed over her, suddenly every bit of anger that she had pelted up towards Harry and the archway went away, and when she turned back to face the veil, she felt enlightened and confident about what she had to do. She pocketed the little jewellery box and left the room at once.

~ * ~

_ Two Years Ago _

Hermione was sitting on the bottom most step of the veil room, casually eating her cucumber sandwiches as she listened to the whispering voice of the late Harry Potter. She had fully become Lady Misery now. Her entire attire was black leather, skin-tight, uncomfortable, but at least intimidating and noticeable.

Her signature black liquorice chewing gum had also been put away in a wrapper whilst she ate.

‘Harry?’ Her voice echoed off the walls, the whispers were always difficult to distinguish when she talked.

That was why some days she would just come in, sit down and listen. But every now and then, when she felt chippy and cheerful like today, she enjoyed doing all the talking to keep him up to date with how things were going.

‘I dealt with the Dursley’s today,’ she said in barely a whisper, her eyes looking upwards towards the ceiling, so her ears could listen intently forward, attempting to pick up any sound. ‘I know, they aren’t Purebloods, or dangerous— don’t worry, I didn’t kill them. I did something worse, that I thought, you’d enjoy knowing so—’

She paused to take a bite of her sandwich, listening for his voice, and when she heard the faint whisper of her name, she smiled and swallowed her mouthful.

‘I showed up uninvited for dinner,’ Hermione said with a cunning smile, ‘dressed in black leather, waving my wand around, moving furniture at will, and talking about the legend of Harry Potter. They were fuming by the time I excused myself to leave.’

Hermione laughed and took another bite of her sandwich, whilst keeping an ear out for a whisper from Harry, which encouraged her to continue.

‘Seriously though,’ Hermione said with a little shrug, ‘I didn’t kill them, I promise. I’m saving up for next week. The Malfoy hearing… they’ve hung on for long enough.’

A small curl at the side of her mouth formed as she went back to finishing her lunch.

~ * ~

_ Present Day _

‘Hello Harry,’ Hermione said happily, as she worked he way to the bottom of the benches and sat down on the bottom most one, again pulling out her sandwiches for lunch, ‘you will not believe the day I’ve had.’

She went silent, raised her eyebrow, listened for the sound of him whispering, but when nothing came after a moment, she shrugged and took a bite of her sandwich.

‘I’ve decided to do that thing we agreed on the other day,’ Hermione said, chewing casually, ‘I’m going to get rid of Knockturn Alley once and for all. I don’t think many people are going to miss it.’

She stopped talking again to take another bite into her cucumber sandwich, and looked towards the black veil expectantly, attempting to listen out for Harry whispering to her. After thirty seconds of silence she raised her eyebrows in question and then shrugged.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said after a moment, ‘it’s taken me a long time but, I told you, we’ve been having a lot of these imposters looking like you show up. I don’t quite know what to do about them. There’s been so many. What do you think?’

Hermione took another bite and waited. This time, instead of sitting there in silence for only ten or twenty seconds, an entire minute went by without a single whisper, and it started being a cause for concern.

‘Harry?’ she asked, she put down her lunch, brushed away the crumbs and stood up, approaching the archway cautiously, listening out for his voice.

But there was nothing.

‘Please talk to me,’ she said desperately, she wrapped her arms around one of the pillars and pressed an ear against the cold, ancient stone.

Whereas before, whenever Hermione would get this close, the veil seemed to almost be pulling her in. Now, her worst fear was coming true, it appeared to be doing the opposite, it was pushing her away, denying her from touching, from listening, from being so near. She stood there for ages, and she began to cry, because the longer she stood there in silence the more she came to realise, the whispering voice of Harry Potter had stopped.

‘Harry, no,’ Hermione whispered, tears streaming down her face, ‘please don’t be gone.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS - Yes, I'm still stuck, no I don't know if it'll get finished. Sorry. :(


	9. The Loony House

Chapter Nine

The Loony House

When Harry and Neville had finished spinning for what felt like an eternity, their feet landed onto soft earth and their nostrils filled with salty air. At first, Harry wondered if Neville had taken a wrong turn along their journey by mistake, or that he had come up short in his attempt at guiding him via apparition. But then Neville released the grip on his forearm and stepped aside and Harry got a clear view of where they were.

It was a long stretch of beach in both directions, very isolated and very much the middle of nowhere. Harry was instantly reminded of Shell Cottage, and the vast stretch of empty beach it had inhabited. But the cliffs and sand dunes along this shoreline were bare and untouched. Instead, his eyes were drawn towards the point of the beach, where a large collection of rocks on the water housed a small hexagon structure, like some sort of beach house, carved into the stonework.

Neville glanced sideways at Harry curiously, and after grinning at his reaction, began to lead the way along the water’s edge. For a split second, Harry thought about asking who lived here, but the closer they got, the quicker he began to realise whose world they were now entering. It might have been ten years later, but Luna Lovegood’s style had not wavered, and Harry was pleased to see she’d carried her creativity into adulthood.

The outside of the building had been painted lavishly with all forms of wildlife and all in bright primary colours. On the stairs leading up to the front door, there were a wide variety of overgrown pot plants acting as bookends on each step, and at a glance, Harry could only identify Devil’s Snare, which was wrapping its way around one of the posts. He made sure to walk up the opposite side of it.

The veranda, again, was quite colourful, there were all sorts of ornaments, dream catchers and wind chimes hanging from the beams of the roof above. Luna also had more unusual things hanging from the rafters, such as mistletoe, tinsel and seaweed. Unusual in the sense that, only she would hang such random things at the front of her house.

A small outside table sat in the corner, it had been encrusted with beautiful and colourful shells, and wooden trunks had been set around it to act as chairs. Harry eyes were drawn underneath it, where a stack of pewter cauldrons lay, each of them were filled to the brim with differently coloured plastics of all shapes and sizes, and it looked like it had all been put together and assorted at random.

Neville marched forwards and knocked three times on the front door, then caught Harry’s eye and pointed to the sign that had been crudely nailed to the wall:

WELCOME TO THE LOONY HOUSE

NO SHOES ALLOWED

Neville began to take his shoes off, so Harry moved forward and lean against the wall and do the same, but when he looked down, he saw a sea of different coloured shoes at the base of the wall. At first, he thought there might have been many people living there or at least visiting, but then he realised they were all the same size. Luna had compensated for always having her shoes taken from her at Hogwarts and now she had one for every day of the month.

The door to the beach house opened, and when Harry looked up from kicking his shoes off, he got quite a shock. Dean Thomas stepped forward over the threshold and automatically put his hand out to greet his old dormitory friend.

‘Hello, Neville,’ he said, not noticing Harry in his peripheral vision, ‘what brings you to the loony bin?’

Neville glanced towards Harry, who stood up straight awkwardly, and then Dean turned to look at him curiously. The moment he saw Harry Potter standing there, Dean merely beamed, stepped forward, and put his hand out towards Harry, just like he had done for Neville.

‘I knew it,’ he said firmly, as Harry shook his hand. ‘Harry, mate, how are you?’

‘Good,’ Harry said, slightly taken aback at the serenity of his reaction, ‘how— how are you?’

‘I’m excellent,’ he said, still beaming, ‘hey Luna,’ he called out, turning his head back towards the doorway, ‘sweetheart?’

There was something quite wholesome about hearing Dean calling Luna his _sweetheart_.

‘Yes?’ Luna’s soft dreamy voice drifted towards them, and for some reason it took her a minute to get to the front door. ‘Is that our sweet Neville? About time he visited for tea. I hope he brought his Hannah with him— oh—’

Luna appeared in the doorway, and Harry immediately found out why she’d taken so long to reach them. She was pregnant. And quite a fair way along too. She was wearing a large yellow dress that fell just past her knees, her dirty-blonde hair was now waist-length and rather well kept and she had something fluffy and black that looked like a cat in her arms.

Harry couldn’t help but notice there was something less loony about her. She had forgone the wearing of her beloved Butterbeer cork necklace, which she had believed kept the Nargles away. There was no sign of her Spectrespecs that she used to wear to spot Wrackspurts. And even her dirigible plum earrings, that she used to make herself, had been replaced by simple golden studs.

If not for her bare feet and dreamy look, Harry might not have identified Luna at all.

‘Hello, Harry,’ she said brightly, she certainly recognised him though and her face lit up like a Christmas tree the moment she saw him.

‘Err, hello Luna,’ was all Harry could manage in reply, he was still rather taken by their laxed attitude towards his sudden appearance.

‘I wondered when you would show up again,’ she said softly, as she absentmindedly began to pet the cat-like creature in her arms.

‘What do you mean?’ Harry asked, he tore his eyes away from whatever she was holding and looked from Luna to Dean. ‘You didn’t think I was dead?’

‘Well, it didn’t make sense, mate,’ Dean said calmly, nodding, ‘they never found your body. There wasn’t any trace of you. So, we figured you’d apparated away or something—’

‘He couldn’t have,’ Neville said pointedly, ‘you can’t apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds—’

‘If anyone could, Harry could,’ Dean said, but when he looked at Harry’s expression, he shrugged, ‘all right, if you didn’t apparate away, how did you survive then?’

‘It’s complicated,’ Harry said, he was looking sideways at Neville, wondering if perhaps they should have just let them believe he’d apparated away, rather than have to explain the whole-time travel theory again.

‘Why don’t you come in and tell us all about it?’ Luna asked dreamily with a smile. ‘I’ll go put the kettle on—’

‘Would you like me to do that?’ Dean asked Luna suggestively, his eyes flickering to her stomach.

‘Oh no, it’s fine, I can manage,’ Luna said brightly, putting her hand warmly on Dean’s forearm as she disappeared back into the house.

Dean blinked and looked curiously at Harry and Neville. ‘I’ll go help her anyway,’ he whispered with a smirk and a shrug before saying, ‘come on in, guys.’

Dean stepped back into the house, and just as Neville went to follow him through the doorway, Harry grabbed him by the arm and held him back.

‘What are we doing here?’ Harry asked him quietly, narrowing his eyes. ‘Why did you bring me here? You clearly must have known about Luna. They won’t want to help me, Neville, and I wouldn’t even dream of asking them to—’

‘I thought you might like to see them,’ Neville said with a shrug, ‘they seem pretty happy to see you—’

‘That’s nice and everything,’ Harry said calmly, ‘but Hermione—’

‘I think they can help you,’ Neville said honestly, ‘but not in the way that you might think.’

‘What is that supposed mean?’ Harry asked of him briskly.

‘Just come in and have one a of tea,’ Neville pleaded with him hopefully, ‘you’ll see.’

Neville smiled at reassuringly, patted him on the shoulder and led the way into the Loony House. The bright, primary colours had followed them inside, the walls had been painted with even more magical creatures, almost as if they were cataloguing that one’s they’d seen or found in the wild. The living room, which he followed Neville into, was lined with paintings of Dragons, all were different sizes and colours, some he’d seen before, others he didn’t.

Automatically his eyes found the Hungarian Horntail staring back at him, not too dissimilar to one that he had fought back in his fourth year, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. His thoughts went back to Hermione and that period in his life, when she had been the only one to believe him when he said he had not put his name in that cup, and that she alone helped him perfect the summoning spell to beat the task and very much save his life.

‘Do you like my paintings?’ Luna had come back into the room, escorted by Dean with the tray of tea, and she spotted Harry staring down the Hungarian Horntail. ‘I knew I’d find you admiring that one.’

‘They’re really good,’ Harry said positively, as they all took a seat in the leather chairs surrounding the coffee table, ‘do you earn a good living as a painter?’

‘Oh, no,’ Luna said brightly, shaking her head as she poured them tea, ‘that’s just a hobby. We’re actually Magizoologists,’ she pointed to herself and Dean.

‘Magi— what?’ Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

‘Magizoologists,’ Dean repeated calmly, ‘we study Magical Creatures.’

Harry looked impressed. His eyes wandered across the ceiling and walls of the living room again, admiring the many types of Dragons, and wondered just how many of them they had seen in real life.

‘So, you’ve studied all these?’ he asked curiously, forgetting about his agenda temporarily.

‘Oh, yes,’ Luna said happily, ‘we’ve been to some of the best places in the world. You see that large black and white one?’ She pointed to the one above Neville’s head. ‘That’s an Australian Blue-Tongue Dragon. We spent seventeen hours in a cave in Central Australia watching one hatch once, it was quite a brutal experience—’

‘I still have a scar on my back from that one,’ Dean said with a smirk at Harry and Neville.

‘And this one here,’ Luna pointed to the brown and white one above her, ‘the North American Bald-Bellied Dragon, we found her fishing in a lake in Alaska, and actually, that’s also where we found and adopted Penny.’

‘Penny?’

Harry was suddenly horrified at the thought of them bringing a Dragon home, and after he looked around quickly in a panic, he realised Luna was referring to the black cat-like creature she now had curled up in her lap. When she lifted it, and it raised its head, Harry immediately recognised it as a Niffler, a magical beast that was notorious for searching for buried treasure.

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Luna said proudly, beaming as Harry locked eyes with the creature, and it immediately dove back into its mother’s lap, curled into a ball and hid its head. ‘She’s a little bit shy, too, but at least she’s been trained not to dive for your watch instead.’

Luna smiled as she looked back at Harry, who was trying his best to look interested, but the Hungarian Horntail over Dean’s shoulder had only made him think of Hermione again and why he was there.

‘Yeah, sure…’ he said, looking around at Neville, who cleared his throat and put his cup of tea down.

‘Umm, yeah, so, guys,’ Neville said quietly, looking at Dean and Luna, ‘I brought Harry here because he wants help with Lady Misery. And I remembered, Luna, about your theory—’

‘It’s not a theory, Neville,’ Luna said kindly, ‘it’s the truth. Poor Hermione is possessed.’

Dean and Neville winced at the name, Harry, however, rolled his eyes.

‘Possessed?’ he asked in disbelief, getting a dreamy look from the blonde.

‘Go and get the book, Dean,’ Luna suggested, giving Harry a small smile.


	10. The Resting Place

Chapter Ten

The Resting Place

Hermione was livid.

Her grim discovery in the Department of Mysteries, that the whispering voice of Harry Potter had stopped, did not bode well for the unfortunate souls that happened to be crossing her path for the rest of that day. Aside from the press trying to get a statement from her about the Knockturn Alley hearing and having Ron waddle after her in an attempt to get some parchments signed, there were a few Minister of Magic responsibilities she had to act upon before she get out of the place and clear her head.

She had to deal with another Potter look-a-like, another Pureblood that appeared to have been using the same strain of hair as the last man. Despite her efforts in getting him to talk, he also refused to tell her anything, and so another one bit the dust. Then the Head of Magical Games and Sports looked at her funny when she told him she didn’t care about discussing the location of the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, so she banished him with a flick of her wand to Napal for him to get the hint.

And then her temper really began to boil over, when a family of Purebloods were put on trial for inbreeding, in an attempt to rise their numbers and go against her work. She was so disgusted when she was handed the hearing notes from Ron (usually she was queasy when he would approach her, but it wasn’t because of him this time) that she stepped into the room, screamed ‘guilty!’ at the top of her lungs, making them wince, and then with a wave of her wand the room went green, and then she turned on her heel and left.

It was quite a relief when she walked out of the four walls of the Ministry without letting anyone know, though surely someone would notice eventually, and she apparated away to a location that was rather familiar to her. The West Country, a remote part of England that was full of large open grassy fields, tall hills and wide valleys. It was a common area for her, Harry and Ron to camp in during the early months they spent on the run about ten years ago.

The small village of Godric Hollow was one of the few places that Hermione had visited since then at least once a year. With a population of around a few thousand, there was very little activity up and down the alleyways of the back end of the town. So, despite her outfit, she was relatively safe navigating to the local church, where she slipped down the side walkway through a kissing gate and into the graveyard at the back.

It always brought back memories of a different lifetime, and also Christmas, remembering when she first visited the place with Harry instead of now, visiting it to see him. There had been on will or testament regarding the wishes of Harry Potter upon his death. But Hermione had never had any doubt that he would have wanted to be buried here, near his parents, and even though there had been no body, she had insisted upon a funeral with the full works.

No one had argued with her, of course.

Everyone who was anyone attended the funeral, but only those closest to him had put something in memory of him in his coffin to help weigh it down. There had been a lot of items put in that had seemed incredibly boorish as far as Hermione had been concerned. She wondered what he would of thought of his body being replaced with Quidditch brooms and balls, or Gryffindor scarfs and emblems, or personal effects like glasses and a stuffed owl representing Hedwig.

Hermione, however, had put in what she believed best represented the Harry Potter she knew. A book called _Friendship and Bravery_ by _Edith Nesbit._

Hermione approached the gravestone that was standing taller besides the ones of James and Lily Potter. She sunk to her knees in the rich grass and reached for the reef of flowers that she had left for him on the last anniversary of his death. It had been picked and packed at by the local wildlife, so that all the colours had gone, and the dull run had begun face.

She destroyed it with a wave of her wand and replaced it with a fresh one. She was careful not to disturb the other flowers and gifts surrounding her reef, that were clearly from other people who missed Harry Potter too. This was one place in her life where destruction and intimidation towards others was unnecessary.

Hermione found herself doing some maintenance on the headstone and the earth around the grave, clearing it of debris. She felt oddly like one of those grieving widows, who visited on a regular basis to make sure everything was kept in check and that the engravings on the headstone were still clearly legible.

HERE LIES THE LOVING MEMORY OF

HARRY JAMES POTTER

BORN 31 JULY 1980

DIED 2 MAY 1998

THE BOY WHO DIED, SO YOU COULD LIVE

‘Harry,’ she said eventually in a low voice, ‘I know what you’re thinking… I’m here six months early, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Well, I don’t know… the whispers have stopped, Harry. _Your_ whispers have stopped. I’m trying to figure out what to do. I didn’t know what else to do, but to come here and just talk to you. At least, maybe, it might make me feel something… feel better…’

She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen. Did she hope that she would start to hear whispers here now instead? Maybe. Perhaps she was secretly wishing for it to be like one of those old muggle movies, where the girl is sitting at someone’s grave, and they appear from out of the bushes, like they hadn’t aged a day. She heard the rustling of some leaves, but it was just a couple of grey squirrels roughhousing at the base of a nearby tree, probably fighting over something as simple as nuts.

Hermione looked towards the church. She thought maybe, a moment before she looked, there might have been a face in the window, but it was gone. She guessed it was most like a priest, scared to death at the sight of her, so she patted Harry’s tombstone as she got to her feet and skulked away to the nearest empty laneway.

~ * ~

She turned on the spot and appeared again, this time in another village, and unlike Godric’s Hollow, the people there knew all too well who she was. The moment she stepped out from the passageway she had apparated into, and out onto the fairly busy main street, she was spotted, and people began to run away, screaming.

She took it in her stride as she moved forwards. In an attempt to keep the persona up, she sent a random curse over the heads of the crowd, more to scare them away than anything, and for the most past she ignored them as she made her way through Hogsmeade village. This was a place, once upon a time, where she enjoyed coming to.

Every now and then, to take a bit of time off, she would take some Polyjuice Potion and spend an hour in the Three Broomsticks, and have a Butterbeer, to reminisce of a different time. However, her agenda now was Hogwarts. She walked towards the front gates without fear, knowing that whatever protective spells were in place around the perimeter would not being able to stop her.

She closed her eyes, raised her wand and began muttering some strange language under her breath. She could feel the vibration of the defences being lowered, and eventually a smile came over her face and, lowering her wand, she stepped through the gates of Hogwarts, untroubled. She mindlessly flipped her wand around in her hands and began to move, but instead of taking the road up to the front gates, she walked off the beaten track immediately.

She tried not to look towards the castle. It was growing dark out, the students would be having dinner around about now, and even if someone did happen to look out a window towards her, it was likely her attire would keep her well-hidden.

Professor McGonagall usually preferred to know when and why Lady Misery was on the grounds of Hogwarts. But this time, she didn’t need to know. It was personal.

Hermione reached the lake and began to walk around the edge of it, keeping to the shadows of the forest as much as possible. Eventually, she reached a small inlet, with a shoreline that housed the White Tomb of Albus Dumbledore. Before Harry’s death, it alone had been the only grave here, but it now neighboured another memorial, a small plaque dedicated to Harry Potter and the services to his school.

Again, there had been no body to bury, so instead his school trunk had been filled with all of his possessions and laid to rest here.

It was a much simpler engraving that the one at Godric’s Hollow:

HARRY JAMES POTTER

DIED DURING THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS

1980 – 1998

Hermione didn’t try talking this time. She merely sat down, cross-legged, and stared down at it, listening to the silence, waiting. It was silly for her to expect something so small to start speaking to her, but she wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself if she didn’t at least try. However, she did start hearing a noise, but it wasn’t whispering.

Footsteps were approaching her position from the forest; the sound of twigs and leaves were crunching underfoot and were growing louder. Hermione got to her feet in an instant, spun around with her want out and illuminated it.

‘Harry?’

‘What’re yeh doin’ here?’

It was Hagrid. His booming voice echoed across the Great Lake as he raised his crossbow at her and narrowed his eyes. For a moment, Hermione feared he might be hostile towards her, but when he merely stood his ground, she lowered her wand and frowned at him.

‘I came to see Harry,’ she said truthfully with a sigh.

‘How’d yeh know he was alive?’ Hagrid demanded of her, lowering his crossbow tightly.

‘What?’ Hermione’s eyes widened and her wand arm dropped slightly. ‘Harry’s alive?’

Hagrid blinked stupidly. ‘Oh,’ he said looking horrified, ‘I shouldn’ have told yeh that—’

‘Hagrid. Where is he?’ Hermione demanded of him, she raised her wand at him again and advanced on him, making the half-giant fumble with his crossbow and stumble backwards.

‘I… err—’ Hagrid hesitated and swallowed, looking around nervously. ‘I dunno.’

Hermione’s eyes turned to slits. She didn’t believe him, of course. Hagrid was notoriously bad at lying. She wanted to wrangle the truth from him, but she also didn’t want to hurt him and that was also a fact she didn’t want him to know.

‘You might as well tell me,’ she said firmly, green sparks were coming out of the end of her wand, ‘you know how this ends otherwise and, Hagrid, I really don’t want to—’

‘I can’t… I shouldn’…’ Hagrid said, shaking his large head, ‘Professor McGonagall told me not ter say—’

‘So, he’s in the Headmistress’ office?’ Hermione asked of him, raising his eyebrows.

Hagrid paused and then looked angry with himself. ‘I shouldn’ o’ told yeh that either!’

‘Thank you, Hagrid,’ Hermione said, turning her back on him and beginning to walk away.

‘Wait—’ he called after her, trying to get a better hold of his crossbow, ‘where’re yeh goin’?’

‘I’ve been bad, Hagrid,’ Hermione said loudly over her shoulder, ‘I’m going to the Headmistress’ office.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it :(  
> This curse of me being unable to get stories past 20k word count continues. I figured I'd share the rest of what I had because I'm just stuck. I'm sorry to all the people that read this hoping for an ending...


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